


tea

by iamthemagicks



Category: The Pacific (TV)
Genre: 1920s, Gen, M/M, Magic, Sickness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:48:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25573123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamthemagicks/pseuds/iamthemagicks
Summary: Stories about the Shelton House are rampant, but Eugene is desperate when his mother is dying of cancer and there is no cure.
Relationships: Merriell "Snafu" Shelton/Eugene Sledge
Comments: 6
Kudos: 23
Collections: Sledgefu Week 2020





	tea

**Author's Note:**

> Depictions of cancer and sickness, to be warned.

There is a house in New Orleans. They say it’s full of witches and voodoo queens, men who barter and dance with the Baron. 

They’ll steal your soul for fun.

They’ll grind your bones into bread.

They’ll throw your organs in the swamp for the gators.

Rumors, rumors, rumors.

Rumors are what scare and draw Eugene to the plantation house on the outskirts of town, looming like an ogre over the swamp. He can see it down the dirt road, two miles from the mailboxes. He rides his bike and trembles the whole way. It’s the middle of summer and the breeze does little to cool him; his shirt and trousers slick to his body with sweat. From the corner of his eyes, he sees the Spanish moss swaying like dancers on the tree branches.

He thinks of the gators in the swamp, the rumor of the dead slaves haunting the property. He almost wrecks the bike, but he keeps going. It’s the other rumors he wants to believe. Stories of the lame walking and blind seeing, lifted curses and karma-filled revenge, the dead rising.

By the time he reaches the house, he’s sweated through his clothes and looks like he’s just taken a dip in the swamp. His hair sticks to his face, he can feel salt all over his body. Up close, the house doesn’t look nearly as frightening. It’s painted white, with dark green shutters, gleaming windows, and rose bushes surrounding the porch. 

Part of him thinks about turning around and going to church instead, but he’s done his praying with no results. The money he’s brought feels like it’s burning a hole in his pocket. There were rumors about payment, too, of course. They only want your soul, they want a favor, they want your very life. 

Ridiculous, he tries to tell himself. The Shelton House is a place of business. The rumors are probably purposeful to drum up that business, he decides as he takes his first steps. They creak with his weight and Eugene suddenly feels like he’s trudging through quicksand. The air around him is thick and heavy, smelling of honeysuckles and wisteria. Pleasant, comforting. It gives him the courage to make his way up the seven steps and to the porch.

It wraps around the house and he wonders what’s on the other side. Underfoot, he sees that he’s walking over brick dust, and there is honeysuckle woven over the door. Symbols he doesn’t recognize are carved into the lintel and jamb, reminding him of the lamb’s blood from Exodus. 

He stands in front of the door a minute. There’s a worn mat under his feet that once said welcome, he can almost feel the thousands of people who passed before him. The hurt, the broken, the damned. The desperate, like himself. So, finally, he holds his breath, and knocks.

Maybe no one is home, maybe this is a mistake, or the rumors are just that, rumors, and the only people who live here are an elderly couple who don’t want to be bothered. The breeze picks up, shaking windchimes all around him. Something else that brings him comfort and eases the twisting of his gut. 

The breeze drops as the door opens; Eugene inhales deeply, preparing himself. 

A handsome man stands on the other side, green-eyed and dark-haired, warm brown skin. He’s smoking a black cigarette and regards Eugene silently, from his shoes to the top of his head. He wears loose-fitting dungarees, no shirt. There’s a tattoo of a woman’s name over his heart, and a spider’s web over his shoulder. His eyebrows raise up and he exhales the sweet-smelling smoke. “Are you lost?”

Eugene’s throat has gone dry and he has to remember where and who he is. “N-no. No. I, uh. I came here for help.”

His host grins wolf-like, showing pearly white teeth. “You don’t look like a gal in trouble. Unless you’re the daddy.”

“N-no. Nothing like that.” 

He stretches and leans on the doorframe. “That’s what usually brings you white boys down here to see my momma. But the broom did fall towards the west.” He scratches at his belly. “How can I help you, then?”

Eugene licks his lips. “My momma is really sick. She ain’t getting better and I don’t know what else to do.”

“She been seeing a doctor?”

“The best.” 

The man regards him again with a nod and takes a drag from the cigarette. “Alright, come on in. Wipe your feet. And calm down, _cher_. Your heart’s gonna beat right outta your chest.” He adds on a chuckle as he turns around to welcome Eugene into the house.

Eugene wipes his feet the best he can before following. He expected a house full of skulls and voodoo wears, dead animals tacked onto the walls, maybe even wild chickens running about. But it looks almost the same as his parents’ home. Family portraits and paintings, expensive light fixtures, fancy wallpaper. 

His host laughs again. “You rich boys always expect odd things from us.”

“Excuse me?”

He taps at his temple. “Careful with your thoughts, _cher_. They have a way of fishing about.”

“Sorry.” Eugene stuffs his hands in his pockets despite the heat. “Guess that’s kinda rude of me.”

The other man shrugs. “Ain’t the worst thing people thought about here. We keep the chickens out back.” He leads Eugene to the second floor of the house and down a long hallway. Eugene watches the man’s back. There are more tattoos. A full moon, a deer with two heads, a large magnolia flower. “My sister does them,” he says. “She’d do you too, if you like.”

“Uh, maybe.” He thought only sailors had tattoos.

“Merriell,” he says, stopping at a gray painted door. He offers his hand.

Eugene licks his lips again and shakes his hand. “Eugene. Sledge.”

“I promise, you’ve got nothin’ to be scared of.” He holds onto Eugene’s hand tightly, intimately, like they’ve known each other their whole lives. It thrills Eugene, it scares him. This beautiful man in front of him could do anything he wanted. 

Instead, Merielle lets go of his hand and enters the room. Eugene follows. The room is tiny with an altar in the corner. A statue of Mary Magdalene presides over a table with candles, flowers, and trinkets. Merriell lights more candles and makes the sign of the cross in front of the statue, then sits. There is a shorter chair across the way and Merriell gestures for Eugene to sit, which he does. 

It smells like witch hazel and lavender, ink and rum. Eugene pulls his knees close to his body. 

“Now, Eugene.” Merriell extinguishes his cigarette in a glass tray to his left. “What’s wrong with your mother?”

“Cancer,” he says. “It’s in her ovaries and they say they can’t do anything.” He shakes his head, thinking about his mother lying in the bed in the sunroom. She’d become so tiny in the last few months, nothing but bones and her fine hair.

Merriell nods and presses his palms together. “That’s a tall order. A nasty sickness.”

“I know. I know it’s a lot to ask, and you might not even be able to do it...all I hear are rumors, but I have money.” He digs in his pockets and produces his wad of cash. Everything he’s saved since he was a teenager. His parents were rich, but he wanted to earn his own way. 

Merriell eyes the money, then Eugene. “I’ll take the fifty,” he says, pulling the bill from the others. He has a few hundred bills, twenties, even some crumpled ones. “But that’s just so I can buy more supplies later. Put the rest away.”

“But-”

“You don’t pay for this kind of thing with money. Besides, what kinda people would we be if we did that?”

“Smart people?”

Merriell chuckles. “I like you. You’ve got a good heart.” He stands up and starts poking around in jars and vials. Eugene pockets the cash again. It’s not the kind of thing money buys. What will this voodoo witch want from him? A little piece of his soul, his voice, his first born?

“ _Merde_ , your mind never stops, does it?”

Eugene blinks at the back of Merriell’s head. “You read everyone’s mind?”

“Only the loud ones.” He plucks leaves and petals from plants on a high shelf. He walks over to the altar and says something in French Creole before he starts mixing and grinding ingredients in a stone bowl. “You ever known a moment’s peace?”

Eugene starts pulling at a loose thread on his trousers. “Rarely.”

“You’re funny, too. I like that in a man.”

Eugene chews on his bottom lip, watching Merriell’s shoulder blades as he works. Strong muscles under that beautiful skin. “I read a lot,” he blurts, hoping to cover the sound of his racing mind. “Helps keep things quiet, I guess.” 

“Yeah.” A puff of smoke comes up from the bowl and Merriell adds something else. Eugene can’t see everything, but he smells different herbs and flowers, then a cloying scent of lemon covering it all. Merriell spits into the mix and more smoke rises. He makes the sign of the cross again and touches Mary Magdalene’s face before turning back to Eugene. “Gotta let it soak a minute. Now, this is going to make your momma mighty sick.”

“She’s already sick.”

“No.” Merriell shakes his head. “You’re gonna put this in a cup of warm tea. She’s gotta drink the whole thing. The day after, she’s gonna get real sick. Throwing up, sweating. You’re gonna think it’s the end. She might even wanna kill herself. But a day after that, she’ll be on the mend. Then, by the full moon, it’ll be gone.” 

Eugene swallows and glances over to the altar. “You swear?”

“I’d never give someone false hope about their momma.” He turns back to the altar and removes the bowl, then grabs a vial. He fills it to the top and seals it with a cork, rubs his thumb over the roundness of the glass, admiring his work. 

“Why doesn’t everyone come to you for this?” He’d turn over his own life a thousand times to save his momma’s life. He can’t imagine a boy that wouldn’t. 

Merriell hands over the vial, holding it in front of Eugene like a carrot. “For a few days it’s gonna feel worse than the cancer. Lotta people don’t wanna feel that.” 

Eugene eyes the magic bottle in Merriell’s hand. His momma had already suffered so much, was it really worth it for her to suffer more? Of course, she’d never know that Eugene turned to magic instead of prayer, everyone would think it a miracle. He takes a deep breath before accepting the bottle. He puts it in his pocket with the cash. 

“Are you a gambling man, Eugene?” Merriell asks while lighting a new cigarette. His nostrils flare a bit as he exhales through his nose, a beautiful dragon in the candlelight. 

Eugene shakes his head. “Not really.”

“Pity.”

“What else do I owe you?” He didn’t want to leave that unsaid. He didn’t want any debts, much less metaphysical ones. 

Merriell licks his lips and flicks ash. “I want a kiss.”

Eugene blinks, eyes wide as a bug. “A kiss?” His deepest, darkest fear and desire. “RIght now?”

“No. No, I’ll take it when you’re ready.” He gestures to the door and Eugene takes the hint, slowly backing out. A good host, Merriell leads Eugene back through the house, touching him at the small of his back, still sweaty. “You let me know how your momma is after the full moon. I’d like to see your pretty face again.” 

Eugene feels himself flushing; all he can do is swallow and nod like an idiot. “Thank you. I don’t know how else to say it.”

“Think nothing of it.” 

They reach the front door. “Um, goodbye, I guess.”

Merriell grins. “You’re cute, _cher_. I’ll see you at the full moon.” He gives Eugene a slight nudge onto the porch and he closes the door.

Eugene stands there a moment, the bottle warm in his pocket, and his heart pounding like a drum. The sun is low in the sky and a new breeze blows through the porch, rustling his hair, and stirring up the smell of honeysuckle and brick dust. 

*

A storm of which Eugene has never seen rages all night and he hardly sleeps a wink. His stomach is still churned from his visit to the Shelton House, and yet he can’t stop thinking about Merriell Shelton; he even thinks that he sees him during each lightning flash outside his window. Silly, he tells himself. Though, where did his power end? He knew all of Eugene’s thoughts, as he thought them, and he seemed pretty confident that this potion would heal Eugene’s mother, perhaps the Shelton’s could be everywhere at once. 

The sweltering heat doesn’t break with the rain. Eugene tosses and turns, sweating through his nightclothes. He lies on his back, staring at the slow turning ceiling fan, the shadows cast by each flash of light. He huffs and strips off his clothes and walks to the window to open it, not caring if the floor gets wet. 

Droplets of rain begin to hit him the second the window opens and he immediately feels better. He stares into the swirling storm, imagining Merriell at the other end of it. Maybe he was at his own window, staring and imagining. 

_I want a kiss_ , echoes in Eugene minds. Those lake-green eyes, large and wild, that wolf-grin, licking his lips. Eugene will give him anything he wants, he thinks as he reaches down to his half-hard cock. He thinks about Merriell’s soft hands and rough mouth, that tongue moving all over his body. He wants Merriell hovering above him, writhing under him, he wants it all. 

A clap of thunder startles him, but he doesn’t stop, orgasming, remembering the smell of Merriell’s skin. Eugene takes a few minutes to call down, still staring out at the rain. He catches his breath and cleans up before laying back in bed. His body is still covered in sweat, but he feels a little looser, less tension in his shoulders. He hardly sleeps for more than an hour. 

In the morning, the rain has stopped and Eugene feels sticky and gross. He showers and pulls on freshly washed clothes before making his way to the sunroom, magic vial in his pocket.

His momma is lying in bed, staring out the window. She blinks her big blue eyes slowly and shudders as she exhales. “Genie, baby, come sit next to me.” She reaches out an arm.

Eugene obliges and sits next to her on the mattress. He looks around, seeing that his father has already left for work. He grunts in frustration. But Mary takes his hand and gives it her best squeeze. “Look how pretty it is out there, baby,” she sighs. “All those droplets like gems.” 

“It’s beautiful, Momma.” He leans down to kiss her on the head. She smells like ointment and sweat. “Let me get you some tea, alright? I’ll be right back.”

“Take your time.” 

Eugene manages to get a look at the garden as he stands. She’s right; it does look like a bunch of jewels waiting on flower petals and grass. 

He starts the water on the stove and digs through the cabinets for her favorite tea. He’s starting to feel sick, thinking about what Merriell said was going to happen to her. But, she was going to die. She was already withering away, quickly, always in pain, always sad. She was forgetting things, sometimes seeing things. More days than not, she wasn’t the mother he knows from his childhood. The cancer has eaten up most of her body and mind, he has to take this chance.

The kettle whistles and Eugene pours it over the tea bag, then empties the vial into the mug. It still smells like lemon, fresh and sweet. He’s almost tempted to take a sip himself. 

After the tea cools, he brings it over to her, along with a slice of toast and some of the pain pills his father keeps bringing home. “Okay, Momma, why don’t you sit up, drink your tea.”

“You’re such a good boy.” She smiles at him and touches the side of his face. Her little hand is cold, like she’s already dead. “I love you so much, darling.”

“I love you, too, Momma.” He has to hold back tears. 

Nervous as a hen, he watches Mary drink the whole cup of tea and eat the slice of toast. Then, she takes her pain pills. “Hmm.” She clears her throat. “I think it’s going to be another insufferably hot day.”

“Yeah.” The humidity hangs heavy in the room, the mid-morning sun burning hot light through the open windows. “I’ll get you some water.”

It doesn’t take long for the sickness to begin. By the time Eugene has come back from the kitchen with the pitcher of water, Mary is leaned over the bed, vomiting into a trashcan. He almost drops everything, but remembers what Merriell said. It will only be temporary. 

He goes back to gather a wet rag and a different trashcan. When he comes back, she’s stopped, but is sitting up in bed, painting. “Oh, it’s going to be a bad day, darling.”

“I know.” He sits next to her and wipes her mouth, then dabs her head, her cheeks. Her beautiful blue eyes are sunken into her face, her mouth a thin pink line, lips chapped and bleeding. He remembers when she’d wear dark red lipstick with a smile. 

“You’re too good to me,” she whispers.

“Don’t be silly.” He kisses the top of her head. She needs a shower or a bath. “I’ll always take care of you.”

A weak hand pats him on the thigh. “You shouldn’t waste your life worrying over me. It’ll be over soon, anyway.”

His stomach sinks and churns, his heart breaks. “Don’t say that, Momma.”

She starts to stroke the fabric of his trousers and plucks at the loose threads. “You can feel it, when time’s almost up. I’m going to miss you and your brother so much.” Her head lolls to the side so she can see out the window again.

A tear runs down Eugene’s cheek. His brother is off in New York, taking care of orphans or some other noble endeavor. Mary had begged Eugene and his father not to call and bother Edward, he was doing something so much more important. 

“You’ll be fine, Momma,” he tries, pressing the rag to her head. “It’s just a bad day.”

“They’ve all been bad days lately.” She sighs and sinks further into her pillows. 

The rest of the day passes in a regular pattern of events: Mary spends twenty minutes vomiting, and then gets an hour’s peace. Eugene holds her hair back for her and dutifully cleans and switches out the trashcans. She moans and cries the whole time of it. “Please,” she begs, “please just end it.”

Eugene also cries, holding her. “It’s just a bad day,” he tries telling her. “You’ll see.”

When his father comes home from work at the end of the day, he scolds Eugene. “Why didn’t you call?”

“What good would it do?” 

His father sighs. “I could have brought better pain killers. We could...help her along.”

_Help her along_. Give her an overdose of morphine and she’d gently drift off, as if asleep. He’d heard them talk about it before, when they thought he wasn’t around. When things became unbearable, his father was meant to get the morphine. 

“No.” Eugene shakes his head. “No, it’s just...it’s just a bad day. She’ll be better by morning.”

His father sighs. He’s a doctor, he’s seen it all. He must think that Mary is moments away from the eternal bliss of God’s embrace. “If she isn’t well by the morning, I’m going to do what she asked me to do.”

“Fine.” Eugene walks away from him and goes to get Mary some more water. From the kitchen, he hears them talking.

“He thinks it’s a bad day,” she says with a bit of a laugh.

“He’s just a boy.”

“He takes such good care of me.”

“In the morning,” his father says. “If you’re not--”

“Yes. Yes, please.”

Eugene drops the glass in the sink, crying. Was that concoction just something to move her along to the end, faster? Was this cure a merciful death?

He spends the night downstairs in his father’s reading chair, watching over his mother. When she’s sick, he holds her hair, when she rests, he cleans up. His father had gone to bed hours ago after a few glasses of the good scotch. In a way, Eugene doesn’t blame him. He doesn’t know how he would fair, watching the love of his life wither away. Til death do us part is meant to last a lifetime, not thirty years.  
Each time Eugene begins to drift to sleep, he sees Merriell’s face. I’d never give false hope for someone’s momma. Was his own momma sick once? So close to the grave that she could taste the dirt? 

When Eugene wakes from the sunlight on his face, he scrambles to sit up straight and rub his eyes before rushing to check on Mary. He’s afraid that in the night, maybe his father sneaked down with a syringe of morphine, or held a pillow over her face. But when he comes into the sunroom, Mary is standing at the window, her palms pressed against the sill. She glows like an angel, her yellow hair shining gold, her skin a new sheen of pearl pink. 

“Momma,” he says, holding his breath.

Slowly, she turns her head. The bags under her eyes have lifted, and there is a new spark to them, her lips are melon pink, her cheeks flush with color. “Oh, darling, I think you were right about yesterday.” 

Eugene drops to his knees in tears. Mary walks over to him and holds him, cradling his head against her stomach. “It’s alright, darling, everything is alright now.”

*

Each day, Mary gets stronger. She’s able to go up and down the stairs, wash and bathe herself, even walk along out in the garden. His father is in shock, the town is in awe, there’s talk of a miracle at church. People who used to come to the house with casseroles and condolences, came to Mary with their own eyes. 

Eugene can’t believe his own eyes either. He expects some kind of turnabout, for Mary to suddenly get hit by a car or fall down the stairs. Magic comes with a price, he’s heard. But nothing happens. She gets better and after a doctor’s appointment, it’s confirmed that the cancer is gone. 

At night in bed, Eugene watches the moon get fuller and brighter and thinks about going to the Shelton House again. All Merriell asked for was a kiss. Eugene has kissed girls before, only girls. He hadn’t wanted to kiss them, not really, but he did what he was supposed to do. Kissing Margie Lars after a first date, letting Julia Austen kiss him on the mouth after her debut. It was always like kissing his mother or grandmother. One night he dreamt of kissing his best friend, Sidney, and that’s when it all made sense. 

Merriell has bewitched Eugene. He doesn’t know if it’s real, or if maybe Merriell cast some kind of spell over him. He’s eager to make it back to the house, to give over that kiss willingly. He’d give over more for free. 

He touches himself again, thinking of Merriell’s hand and beautiful mouth.

In the morning, Eugene barely finishes breakfast before dashing out the back door for his bike. 

It’s just as hot as it’s been, but the sky is full of rain-heavy clouds. Eugene finds it a nice relief from the blinding sun. there’s also a mighty wind that threatens to blow him over, but he doesn’t care. His heart is beating in his throat and he hears each thump in his ears. 

Will Merriell kiss him on the front porch? Will he just take a kiss on the cheek and then turn Eugene away? Did he have a long list of other lovers? 

At the porch, Eugene hops off his bike and trots up the stairs, carrying no trepidation or fear like the last time. The honeysuckle and brick smell boosts his confidence, the wisteria enhances his excitement. What will be waiting for him on the other side of the door?

He knocks three times and stands still and stiff at attention. He wishes he’d worn something nicer instead of his house trousers and an unbuttoned shirt. He probably looks ridiculous, sweaty and red, hair wild and untamed. 

The door swings open and Merriell Shelton stands on the other side, a lazy grin on his face, cigarette in his fingers. He’s wearing the same pair of dungarees, this time an unbuttoned green shirt hangs on his slight frame. “I was expecting you,” he says.

“Yeah...you said at the full moon.” Eugene feels out of breath.

Merriell takes a slow drag from his cigarette. “How’s your momma?”

“She’s great, wonderful. My daddy took her to the doctor’s and...it’s gone. The cancer, the spread. Like it was never there.”

“I told you.” He leans on the doorframe. 

Eugene shakes his head. He still has trouble believing it. “They’re calling it a miracle.”

Smoke comes out of Merriell’s nose. “That’s mighty kind. Did you tell anyone about the tonic?”

“No. I didn’t know...I wasn’t--”

Merriell nods, another drag and exhale. “You weren’t sure if it was gonna work. I understand. Lotta rumors about the house and us.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s smart. Plenty of people in town will sell ya snake oil promising cures.”

“I know.” He had looked around town, the French Quarter, the papers. There were ads and rumors. No one would give him a straight answer, but as he asked around, people talked about the Shelton House. 

Merriell finishes his cigarette and crushes it underneath the heel of his boot. “So, you come here to finish payment?”

“Oh.” Eugene’s heart jumps to his throat. He’d forgotten, so excited to let Merriell know that his mother was on the mend. “Um, yes. Yeah. Uh, where do you want…” He gestures to the space around him.

“Right here is fine.” Merriell steps onto the porch and Eugene steps back, timid as a rabbit. 

“But...what if someone sees?” He keeps stepping until his back hits the banister. 

Merriell grins, getting closer. “Ain’t no one around for at least two miles.”

His heart just might fly out of his mouth, then what will Eugene do? He swallows, trying to keep it in place. “What about your family?”

“They know how I’m wired.” He closes the gap. “It’s just a kiss, Eugene. I’m not takin’ anything that you don’t wanna give.” 

Eugene nods, hands braced on the banister behind him. “Okay.”

“Okay.” Merriell touches the tails of Eugene’s shirt before leaning in and receiving his payment.

It’s different than Eugene imagined; not like when he kissed the girls. Merriell’s lips feel right against his own, like everything in the world was suddenly making sense. He tastes like strawberry smoke and lemonade, and Eugene opens his mouth wider, begging for Merriell to take more. 

Merriell softly chuckles against Eugene’s chin, moving back. “You ever kiss a girl like that?”

“Fuck, no.” Eugene laughs. “Did you put a spell on me?”

“Oh, no. Don’t mess with love spells. That always comes back to get you in the end.”

Somehow Eugene doubts that Merriell actually has to cast a spell on anyone for them to be enthralled. “So, um, I guess that we’re done? I’ve paid my debt.”

Merriell still hasn’t moved, still stands in Eugene’s space, close enough for another kiss, for hands to start exploring, touching. “If that’s what you want.” Eugene shakes his head. “What do you want, _cher_?” He touches the tip of Eugene’s chin and runs a thumb over Eugene’s bottom lip. 

Eugene is melting. “Can’t you tell?”

They start meeting in the evenings, almost every night. Eugene rushes over like he’s racing, trying to beat the sun before it sets. Merriell is always waiting for him on the porch, smoking one of those black cigarettes. He takes Eugene around the house and the property, dispelling and confirming rumors. 

“Ain’t never stolen anyone’s soul,” Merriell promises. “But my momma’s thrown her share of body parts to the gators.” He leads Eugene through a garden full of flowers and herbs, wild looking plants that Eugene’s never seen.

“They’re beautiful,” he says, running his fingers over a purple flower as big as his hand. 

Merriell stands behind him, taking him gently by the hips. “Mmm.” He presses his nose into Eugene’s hair.

Eugene feels like he could come just from Merriell’s warm body pressed against him, hands on his hips. “Is there anyone around here?” he asks, reaching an arm back so he can knot his fingers in Merriell’s hair.

“Nope. This is my space. Got a nice concealment spell over the bushes. Ain’t no one going to see or hear us.” He kisses under Eugene’s ear, nipping just a bit. 

Eugene groans, leaning fully into Snafu’s body. He lets Snafu manhandle him into the way he wants, which is Eugene on the ground on his hands and knees, panting and vibrating with every touch. 

“You ever let anyone touch you like this?” Merriell asks, dragging his finger down Eugene’s back, down to his buttock, slipping a slick finger inside of him.

“You know I haven’t.” It’s hard to breathe, hard to concentrate.

Merriell kisses down his neck, biting down at the top knob of his spine. “Do you want this, Eugene?”

“Please,” he whines. He thinks that he’ll die if Merriell doesn’t touch him more. After an agonizing few minutes of Merriell’s fingers, Merriell positions himself behind Eugene and eases slowly inside of him, gripping tightly to his hips. “Holy fuck,” Eugene gasps. 

Merriell drapes his body over Eugene’s back as he starts to move. “You’re so beautiful,” he says in between kisses and thrusts. 

Eugene has never felt this much pleasure or love. “Please,” he says again and again as Merriell moves. 

They spend most of the day in Merriell’s garden. Eugene sits on a blanket and sketches the plants and Merriell talking to birds. “Is that what you like to do?” Merriell asks as a magpie lands on his open hand.

“I guess.” He shrugs. “Not a lot of time for it.”

“Why not?” The bird pecks at Merriell’s hand before flying away.

Eugene shifts in his spot, shrugging again, and balances the sketchbook on his knee. “I dunno. I guess because I’d been takin’ care of my momma.” He tries his best to draw the breadth of Merriell’s shoulders before Merriell moves onto a rather large hydrangea bush. Heavy bumblebees flit and buzz around his fingers. 

“You don’t have to do that anymore,” Merreill says. A single bee lands on his finger. 

Eugene glances up from his paper. Merriell is staring at him, intense and purposeful. Eugene always feels like Merriell is looking into his soul, searching for something that may or may not be there. “Do you promise?” 

“That spell is good for a lifetime.” He brings the bee close to his face. Eugene feels like his heart is beating as fast as the bee’s wings. “You don’t have to worry about her anymore.”

Eugene sets the book down on his lap. “I’ll always worry about her.”

“Of course.” He nods and blows the bee away from his hand. He comes to sit with Eugene on the blanket. “She ain’t gonna get sick again. You can take that as gospel.”

Eugene can feel his heart in his throat, working up to his mouth. He could bite it if he tried. As intense as Merriell’s stare can be, it’s also comforting, intimate. “I think I love you,” Eugene says. It scares him, as soon as the words leave his mouth. He’s never loved anyone but his momma and brother; he never thought anyone could love him in return.

Merriell cups his cheek and leans in for a kiss. “You think very loudly.” He grins. “You have my heart. You take that to the grave.”

With the sun low in the sky and covered by wispy, purple clouds, Eugene pushes Merriell onto his back and devours him. Later, they lay on the blanket and stare at the night sky, counting stars and constellations. Eugene can feel the heaviness of the moon in his blood as it climbs higher. 

“I want you to come and meet my momma,” Eugene says, taking Merriell’s hand.

“I’d love that.” He nuzzles under Eugene’s ear. 

The next morning, back at home, Eugene readies the veranda for Merriell’s visit. He told Mary that a friend was coming by. 

“Sidney?” she asks, setting the kettle on the stove.

“No. Sid’s still in school.” He bites into one of the cookies that’s meant for brunch. “No, a new friend. He, um, he sent over some of that tea that you like.”

Her face lights up. “How kind of him.”

It makes Eugene’s heart swell, seeing his mother so happy and healthy again. Ever since the cancer disappeared, she’d gone back to all of her favorite activities and hobbies. She spent a lot of time in the garden, weeding and planting, she went to every church event, and she started redecorating parts of the house. 

She’s more than happy to set up a lunch to meet a new person. She’s gotten out her favorite tea set and made those fancy finger sandwiches. People hadn’t been by to visit the last few months as she laid withering away. They sent their food and flowers and condolences, but no one came to sit with her. 

The sunroom has been cleaned and washed, set up as it was when Eugene was a child. The windows are so clean and clear, it seems as if there is no glass at all. He even presses a finger against it, watching birds in the yard.

As Mary sets the table, the doorbell rings. It startles Eugene, and he’s not sure how he’s supposed to proceed at this point. 

“Go get the door, Eugene,” Mary scolds. “Rude to keep him waiting.”

He nods. This suddenly feels like a stupid idea. Inviting his lover to the house to meet his mother; it’s not like she can know about them. But at the same time, he wants Mary to know Merriell. There’s something deep inside him that makes him crave this interaction. 

He holds his breath as he opens the door. 

Merriell stands on the welcome mat, looking at the potted plants on the porch. “Those are good.” He points. “Good luck, attracts the bees.”

“Bees are good?”

He snorts. “Of course. Who do you think tracks the pollen?”

Eugene shrugs and lets him into the house. As he closes the door, Merriell sneaks in a kiss on the cheek that sends a thrill up Eugene’s spine. He feels like a teenager. It’s a stupid move, but in the moment, he doesn’t care. He could get caught by the sheriff himself, and Eugene wouldn’t care. 

“Um, thanks. Welcome.” He starts to lead the way.

Mary is waiting in the sunroom, the table set out like a proper English tea party. The pot, the cups and saucers, the snacks. There’s a glass vase of daisies sitting in the center of the table. “Momma, this is Merriell,” Eugene says, lump in his throat.

“You’re the young man who sent me that tea?” she asks for clarification. Even in recovery, she’s still forgetting and misremembering some things.

“Yes, Mrs. Sledge.” He goes to shake her hand, but she takes his fingers, trapping him in between her palms. She looks him up and down, studying his face like an encyclopedia. Could she know what he and Merriell have been doing? Could she read his mind?

“Is your momma Marjorie Shelton?”

He is still underneath her scrutiny, something that always made Eugene squirm and wiggle. He wonders what Merriell could be hearing from his mother’s mind. Was she a loud thinker like him? 

But Merriell remains cool and collected, giving Mary a tiny nod while answering, “Yes, ma’am.”

Mary releases him. “She helps a lot of people.” 

“That she does.”

That seems to be everything that Mary needs, because she smiles and starts towards the sunroom, calling both of them to follow.   
“She’s a nice lady,” Merriell says. “I’m glad that you came to me.” He sneaks in a kiss on the cheek and follows Mary. Eugene watches the back of his head, the gait of his step. His heart flutters like a bird, caught in his chest.

“Yeah,” Eugene says, “me too.”


End file.
